


mythbreaker

by bxnmitchell, oceandawn



Series: in another life [3]
Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bxnmitchell/pseuds/bxnmitchell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceandawn/pseuds/oceandawn
Summary: callum needs the truth; ben needs to start being honest.orfix-it fic for the 2/6/2020 episode.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Series: in another life [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924921
Comments: 14
Kudos: 147





	mythbreaker

In a flat that exudes so much warmth, Phil’s mere presence is an intrusion.

“Are you in pain?”

 _Yes_. 

“I’m fine.”

Ben’s phone buzzes in his hand. He scans the message and steels himself against the urge to feel grateful that the man sat opposite him would bother to ask if he _needs to get checked out?_

Yes, of _course_ he needs to get checked out, but burst eardrums don’t just _happen_ , do they? All it really takes is one doctor demanding an explanationto render every ounce of pain entirely obsolete: if anyone finds out what happened, it’s all been for nothing. He’s got a hospital appointment – the thought of which alone leaves him berating himself for attempting to lie to Lola about why he couldn’t take his own daughter to school – _next week_ , Callum had supplied. And supplies again, nowhere to be seen, but a voice that tries to ground him anyway, even if only in the passage of time.

He can wait a week, he’s sure. He can use the time to hope the pain dulls a little or to think up an alternate explanation.

“The last thing we need is nosy doctors poking their noses in.” 

“Okay. Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Can we just talk about something else?” 

Ben’s sure that Phil knows that the diversion masks the part of him that can’t entertain that thought, knowing there’s a chance that the honest answer is _no, I can't_. He inhales deeply, gives himself a moment to wash away the _what ifs_ and instead decides to vocalise a solution to them.

“I think I’m going to lay low for a little bit, you know?” And just in case Phil takes that to mean something too closely resembling fear: “My ear hurts at the moment but it’ll sort itself out. Just needs some time and then…”

[13:46] _What will you do with the money?_

Ben scoffs. A reflex, really, his body reacting before his mind even has time to muster the name of the emotion that takes over.

“Well, soon as my hearing’s back, probably blow the rest on the best home movie system or something, you know?” He punctuates what he promises himself is a joke with a small chuckle and tries to wash away the thought that Phil might believe him, might still be waiting for a moment in which his hearing will simply be _back_. “Have sound coming at me from every direction.”

[13:47] _Does Callum suspect?_

The image of his own blood seeping through crisp grey fabric comes back more quickly than he can prepare himself for, accompanied with something striving towards anger. Between the pixels comprising those words is the unspoken assumption that Ben is still a liability, that the man who truly loves him makes him a liability.

Phil’s expression turns, and Ben, ever more perceptible than Phil is willing to give him credit for, catches the flicker behind the man’s eyes as he leans in closer, presence practically _looming_ now. 

“Good. Cos no-one can know about yesterday. Do you understand? And especially not Callum.” 

But those words – _do you understand? –_ do not mean the many things they might mean if they belonged to somebody else. 

They do not mean _did you catch what I said?_ Because it doesn’t matter now that Phil’s got all the answers he needed, does it? Now, those words simply mean _because otherwise…_

Ben matches the ice-cold expression that shrouds him as Phil retreats.

* * *

He regrets asking Sharon for a chat at all, if he’s honest.

“And my mum taught me how to turn a blind eye.” Callum frowns, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“I don’t think I could ever turn a blind eye about…” 

“You knew what Ben was like before you got involved with him.”

True enough, he supposes, but not in the way that Sharon’s implying. He knew that there was more to Ben. Knows that still. It’s still there.

“Come on. You didn’t think you could save him from himself, did you?” 

Maybe not, but there’s something there to save. That’s the point.

“Oh, darling. If you think that, you’re on a hiding to nothing.” 

This will never be nothing. Never. But Callum’s not about to try and sculpt an image of the man he knows out of thin air and ask Sharon to believe in that image, to believe that there is something _distinct_ about that image that separates myth from maker, separates Ben from Phil.

“Doesn’t it scare you, though? The stuff they could be getting up to? The people that they associate with?” 

“Ben loves you.” Lovely sentiment, well intended, he’s sure, but it tumbles from her mouth too quickly for it to be anything more than a deflection. Because yes, it does scare her, doesn’t it? There’s no way it can’t. “Isn’t that enough?”

No. It isn’t. Not if Ben’s going to lie to him, and certainly not if he’s going to get himself hurt in the process.

“Do you know anything about yesterday? They’ve done something. Phil and Ben. They’ve been plotting something.” 

Callum thinks back to the edges of a sheet of paper peeking out from underneath a folded newspaper as Ben rambled away, hand resting atop the broadsheet, fingers splayed, either a desperate attempt to cover the thin lines marking the page or to ask Callum to notice and put a stop to it before it was too late. 

The day of Ben’s operation was not the day to ask whether a treasure map drawn with all the skill of a child playing pirates would lead to something far more dangerous than gold. Ben’s own indiscretion had given him away, in the end. In trying to extract information he had needlessly revealed more than he had gained, his sloppy attempts at interrogation telling Callum of a warehouse somewhere that Phil had info on. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about." Sharon says. "Look, I like you, darling. And I want things to work with Ben, so trust me. Ignorance is bliss.”

And maybe, _maybe_ that’s true. But this isn’t ignorance. This isn’t not knowing, it’s not knowing the full story.

Callum deserves the full story.

* * *

[14:15] _Hope you’re OK?_

Ben jolts in his seat as a flash goes off beside him. He turns to see one of only two people he’d be pleased to see standing before him in this moment.

“I’m gonna add you to my collection of grumpy faces. We need to stop meeting like this.” Frankie taunts, smile wide as ever as Ben curls his hand around his beer bottle. “You look like you need company.” She adds, and something flickers in Ben’s expression. “What’s wrong?” Ben frowns slightly, and Frankie signs the words once more.

“Do you ever get fed up of people asking if you’re okay? Everyone wants to know, “how are you?” like you’re fragile.” He asks. 

It’s not what’s wrong, not really, but his inability to form a response to Callum’s message means it’s true enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s giving himself another lie to keep track of.

As far as the problem posed by the question itself, posed by _are you okay?_ , Ben takes comfort in the knowing expression that takes hold of Frankie’s features, takes comfort in the fact that there are other people that _know_ , that aren’t imagining how he _must_ feel. 

In his case, the issue isn’t purely the question, of course: it’s that no matter how many times he’s asked, he can never tell the whole truth. But as Frankie’s expression softens, the comfort prevails.

“You get used to it. Is this about your fit boyfriend? Because if you don’t want him, chuck him my way.” 

“Uh, he’s done with girls. Once you try Ben, you don’t go back.” 

That’s the trick with self-confidence. If you’re putting it on to begin with – well enough that you almost start to believe it yourself – then your audience will follow suit. 

But not this time, it would seem.

“Don’t take any notice of other people. You just be yourself. You must be doing something right, because he loves you.”

And with that, his own words come crawling back, a _how can you?_ shouted in the Sqaure and met with an expression of sheer disbelief from a man who could have stood there waxing lyrical without a single drop of irony for hours if Ben would have let him.

But lying is second nature to Ben, and that alone sparks the fear that Callum might be lying too.

* * *

Callum’s not all that interested in whoever Harry is. More concerned with the latte, if anything.

“Just telling me about a robbery in Stratford.” Jack tells him. Meaning only to suggest that a café might not be the best location for this conversation, Callum instinctively looks over his shoulder, and for a split-second he wonders how Ben can spend so long doing the same. 

“Oh, yeah?” He asks.

“At a warehouse last night. Got away with a fortune.”

“Warehouse?” 

One word brings his whole world tumbling down, connecting the dots between a map under a newspaper, Ben’s futile questioning from a hospital bed, and the unforgettable image of blood on a pillowcase.

And then those connections stretch wider still, blood on fabric sending him back some six months to red smears on a white shirt while Ben lay nestled against his chest, that blood belonging to the man now sat opposite him rattling off details that ask questions that Callum knows he holds the answers to. 

* * *

He has to bring it up. One of them has to do this, and Ben doesn’t know there’s anything to talk about, thinking himself a better actor than he is. Even if Ben suspected that Callum had an inkling, there's no other way he’d broach the subject himself. 

It's like playing with fire when he's already burnt, wanting to ask but easily anticipating the outcome, knowing that Ben will be defensive, say it wasn't him even before Callum tells him what _it_ might refer to. 

But Callum is aware _something_ has happened. Ben’s ear bleeding like that, the sudden nightmare, the way in which he’d tried to avoid every single question with a quick smile to quell Callum’s interrogation. It's worrying Callum, of course it is — he loves Ben more than anything.

As they sit side by side, Callum takes no interest in the TV, staring idly until images become pixels as he focuses only on the impending moment, each possible organisation of the question that sooner or later he will have to ask fighting every other.

And then Ben reaches over, Callum casting his eyes downwards at the contact. Ben's fingers rest on Callum's wrist, thumb moving once, then twice before staying idle. Ben chuckles at something, but Callum doesn't know what he's laughing at. There is no part of this that Callum could wring a single drop of humour from.

There's a hollow, cold feeling in his chest. Ben could be hiding anything about what happened last night, but knowing it's _something_ , that he’s hiding in the first place, after all this, is what makes Callum worry.

And this, the contact they share, the fingertips grazing the back of his hand, should pull them closer. Ben is mere centimetres away, but the distance between them grows impossibly wider with every second that passes.

Callum bites his lip, and it feels as if he's biting solid metal as he struggles to decide if he should confront him, _how_ to confront him, _when_ to confront him.

But it’s now or never, because the longer he leaves it, the more comfortable Ben will become with his own ability to lie, with thinking he can keep Callum in the dark. All this will be just another secret amongst the many he's already buried.

Callum swallows, places his tea down and turns to Ben. He moves slow, like he's trying not to startle a wild animal and takes Ben's hand between both of his.

 _God._ How does he do this? 

There's no good way, no good outcome, and he's suddenly wishing Ben would just come out with it, that he’d see the look in Callum's eyes and know that he's willing him to say _something, anything._

But Ben doesn't, just smiles a little, trying to diffuse what begins to border on awkwardness. 

Callum's one movement away from either kneeling on the floor and proposing to him, or backing out all together, telling Ben that he’s just _wondering if he fancied a Chinese?_ But the memory of Ben’s face back in December, tears welling in his eyes as he ended things, stops him from daring to follow that path again.

"What?" Ben says, a small chuckle following behind when Callum still doesn't speak up.

Callum's already put his foot through the door, he can't pretend it's nothing now, not when Ben is clueless as to what he's doing. If anything, Ben probably thinks he's being shy, because he still is, at heart.

"Callum?" Ben tries again, face falling. The time that's passed is a good indication that whatever Callum wants to say is lodged in his throat, and the hesitancy itself sparks more terror than the impending question.

Ben sits up a little, movement slow, eyes never leaving Callum. They drop to his lips, not wanting to miss whatever Callum is spending so much time trying to get right. 

Still nothing.

Callum can’t hold his gaze any longer, looking down towards his hands instead, lifting his hand a little higher and Ben's with it, thumbs moving ever so gently over his knuckles.

Callum moves one leg up onto the sofa so he can face him properly, and that one single movement is like some sort of lock and key. There's no escaping it now, and Callum can't turn around. 

"Are you — are you lying to me?"

Ben blanks, and the usual happens.

"What?" He's said it twice in one minute, he realises, but there's no other reaction to this.

"Last night," and those words create an immediate reaction from Ben, jaw clenching, held tight as Callum goes on. He's on thin ice, whatever he says next could break it. "Where were you?"

"With _Lexi,"_ replies Ben, stern, almost spitting it.

The way Ben almost flinches away screams of every attempt to avoid Callum’s questioning that Ben had tried this morning.

Callum watches on, _feels_ everything fall into place. All the lies that were hidden over the past few days, dusty now, having been shoved behind smiles and the usual means to avoid the truth and instead take the easy route. Callum knows now that his suspicions are not unfounded, knows that the mistruths he senses are real and not some figment of his imagination spurred on by the fear of never truly being able to break Ben's cycle.

He still can't, though, can he?

He never will, not until something else breaks first; Ben, Callum or _both of them._ There's no gluing back together fragments so small.

 _"Don't,"_ starts Callum, squeezing his hand a little, words breathless as they break between the pain held in his throat. "Don't lie to me." He laughs. Ever so slightly. Clawing its way from his throat in precisely the way a sob would.

"Where else could I have been, Callum? It's a small Square, news spreads quickly, I think you’d have noticed if I was anywhere else." Ben turns away, but his hand remains with Callum. 

It's the only thing keeping them together, that bit of contact. Insignificant to most, but for Ben, it's as if he's trying to hold his entire world on just the space afforded by a few fingertips, and it's _so heavy,_ so overwhelming that it feels like he'll have to drop it, losing everything in the process. 

Losing _Callum._

And for what? To appease his dad? For money he'll never see? He doesn't want the money, anyway; he can’t think of a single thing he’d truly like to spend it on, can’t think of a single thing with any monetary value that would bring him any peace. 

In truth, he’d never even considered that a cut of the money would ever belong to him, but _Christ_ if it doesn’t speak volumes that Ben would _beg_ Phil to let him help him and Phil would have nothing to offer him but cash.

But it's like Phil said. Callum can't know. It makes things complicated, and on the subject of complicated, Ben is struggling to piece together the timeline that begins with Phil saying that Callum is _good_ for Ben, and end with asking Ben to lie to Callum, robbing Ben of the opportunity to be in any way good for _Callum._

It's how he works, Ben knows that, Phil taking more than he gives, but Ben feels sick to his stomach thinking about turning into him.

The more he tries to impress him, the more Ben just becomes a mirror image, _the same Ben he always was_ fading into obscurity.

Because _the same Ben he always was_ did not want to _be_ Phil. He only wanted to be _enough_ for Phil.

Callum can see he's slipping back into usual habits, and he so desperately wants to him to break the cycle.

He knows Ben can be better, and it's _infuriating_ sitting here and watching Ben turn a blind eye to his own actions to try and act bigger than he actually is, to try and wear somebody else’s personality. Callum's seen how good he can be, felt it, _talked_ about it, that goodness stretching out into their future.

But the immediate past is the problem. Callum removes his phone from his pocket, turning the screen towards Ben to allow him to read an article it had taken him only seconds to find.

"A warehouse, maybe." Ben reads his lips, watches how his lips move around the word _warehouse_ before turning his attention to the screen, taking in the words as quickly as he can.

**_STRATFORD WAREHOUSE RAID_ **

**_Police were called to an armed robbery in Stratford last night at 9:20pm._ **

_Gun shots were heard by local residents near the warehouse complex, currently used as a factory, that has also been linked as a premises used by organised crime._

As soon as Callum had seen that article, everything had fallen into place. A confirmation more than a revelation, the reference to gun shots a clear explanation for the scarlet stain on their bed linen, but no victory in any case.

Because the truth isn't so rewarding when it hurts _this much._

Callum won't back down, holds the phone in Ben’s eyeline even when Ben tries to turn away, but it's not backing down that causes the ice to crack beneath them.

Blank fear and blind rage begin battling within Ben, so much so that he doesn't know which one to confront first.

So, he chooses both.

“You going to accuse me of every crime in London? That it?” Callum’s had enough of people brushing him off today.

"What happened?"

Ben scoffs, goes to sit up, but Callum grips his hand tighter. Ben wanting to run away means Ben has something to hide, something he doesn't want to admit to — and he knows _damn well_ Callum has the means to pluck it from his chest, like a puppet master with a marionette.

If Callum's talking, Ben doesn't know, because he's facing away from him, eyes cold and focused on the coffee table. There's a touch on his shoulder, fingertips light, then pressing when Ben doesn't turn.

There's a crackle, ringing, and then silence again. It's an awful reminder, almost deadly.

His world is silent now, and he's alone, _so alone —_ and yet Ben chooses to ignore the one thing, the one _person_ that doesn't make it seem all that scary.

It makes him feel like _Ben,_ knowing that now more than ever, Callum chooses to stand by him and love him, believing that he really is the same old Ben, whatever that might mean to him.

It doesn't mean old habits have to stay, but they're not easy to shift.

"I wasn't there," Ben says, cold. And Callum finds himself stuck somewhere between thankfulness and disappointment that the excuse is at least a better one than the _I don’t know any Jack_ that Ben had instinctively mumbled all those months ago. Thankful that Ben at least has the decency to construct a better lie; disappointed that he’d lie in the first place and expect Callum to buy it.

Ben doesn't even know if he's cut him off, or if Callum's waiting in silence too and hoping it'll make them fold into something private.

Callum doesn't do anything, at least not for a while. They sit there, both in silence. Ben hearing nothing, and Callum still with no answer.

It's not until Callum breaks contact with him, pulls his hands away, that the universal sign of _he's leaving_ ignites sparks in Ben, placing him in an emotional landscape he’s seen before, the words _I don’t want to do this anymore_ unspoken but present, a mental kick to wake up and realise that losing Callum is a very real possibility.

Ben finally turns to him, not realising that his face reflects the same cold, empty feeling in his hands and crawling, itching under his skin now that Callum is distancing himself. 

But Callum already tried to leave once, and that didn't turn out so well. Callum turned right back around, lifted Ben back up to solid ground only to catch him once more.

And now it's the same, Callum reaching out, hand cupping the side of his jaw, and Ben stares at the past before him.

Their break up in the Square — the shine in Callum's eyes is so similar, and he parts his lips, waiting for Ben to drop his eyes before he speaks.

"We promised we wouldnt lie — _we —_ not when you decide it's beneficial for you not to tell me anything."

Ben processes them, swallows the all too real weight on his tongue, resists the snappy reflex to reply with something easy, to repel Callum.

He can't, not when his fingertips move near to his ear, the sensory comfort something he needs so badly. And Callum watches him so closely, takes in every detail, every freckle on Ben's face, and wonders how he can be so close but so far away.

And for all the comfort Callum means to offer him, even the gentlest brush against his skin causes him to flinch away, the pain in his ear greater than he’d realised. Ben raises his hand, shifting Callum’s touch down to his jaw and shielding his ear himself. The twinge in his expression is not accompanied by any verbalisation of pain, not even by a vocalisation: no words, no small whimper, and Callum begins to wonder if Ben even trusts him enough to tell him he’s hurting.

"Why won't you — _why don't you trust me?"_

Ben catches the last part, stutters and stumbles to reply.

"No — no I do, I—" Ben goes to lift his hands, to sign the same words he'd seen first from Callum, but just before he can sign _love,_ Callum holds his wrists.

Time suspends in that moment, time bought by Callum alone. And Ben watches, feels Callum look down in shame that he'd stop something Ben's been so against, signing, and now he's doing it Callum can barely watch.

He mumbles, and if Ben wasn't watching he wouldn't have caught up. Callum says it to himself, says it for Ben mentally but escapes through his lips.

Callum didn't mean to interupt him.

 _"I'm sorry,"_ follows through as he tilts his head, shaking it with a subtle movement someone a few steps away wouldn't notice.

But Ben notices.

He loosens the clench of his jaw against the pain in his ear, only to clench it once more despite it when Callum's eyes begin to show a sense of longing as he brushes his thumbs over Ben's wrists. He's gentle, so gentle, moving his fingertips over the skin of Ben's hands towards his knuckles, each movement one with a purpose. Callum swallows, parts his lips to release a harsh exhale.

He's remembering, memorising.

Remembering might make this worse, he realises. The more he remembers the more it’ll hurt in the aftermath if this all comes crashing down, but he’ll take the pain if it stops him forgetting. Callum _loves him,_ world bending, heart aching — and he doesn't want to ever forget.

If his lungs could laugh, he would, remembering Ben's own words — _you always remember you first, don’t you?_ — and there's no way Callum will forget someone as bold, as proud as he is in himself, someone who loves the way Ben does. There's just no way.

But the fear of forgetting, of wanting what he can no longer have because there’s a chance it’s not there anymore, lost in Ben’s effort to be somebody else, please somebody else, is overwhelming.

No more chances, no more second laps, that's what makes him want to remember. The good parts, the memories of holding his hand for the first time out in public, how their first ever contact was _through_ these hands.

And the same might be about to become true of their last ever contact, too. 

If Callum carries on, this might be it. They'll say goodbye with them either way, without touch, just words and a language they never thought they'd need.

And it's all too real, the pain that reflects on Callum's face as he struggles to push forwards.

"Stop doing that," Callum looks down to Ben's hands, how they've gone limp under Callum's hold, as if he knows there's no point pretending. There's no energy left with which to bolster another of many fictions.

Ben just squints, not catching what he said. Callum picks up on it, but it hurts to say it twice, to say more, sandpaper against his throat.

"Stop saying it if you're — if you don't mean it."

"Callum," it's hard to say his name for some reason, as if Ben already can feel the resistance, as though he's not allowed to have him, as though the mere utterance of the word should be forbidden too.

Callum looks back up to him, speaks slow, takes his time. He releases Ben's wrists, signs some of the words as he speaks.

"You keep saying it and — now I know why. You know it means so much to me, that I'll spend time thinking about it. And now you… You just throw it out to make me believe you. Believe _in_ you.” 

Callum wants to tell him that the gesture is empty, but that misses the point entirely. 

It’s not quite true to say that Ben has become casual — they _can’t_ be casual, not when the words felt so heavy the first time that each of them dared to speak them.

It’s that he thinks that Ben knows how much the words hold, how true they are every time Callum delivers them, how long Ben had taken to prepare himself to deliver them too. 

Ben means it — every single time, he swears — but when tells this man that he loves him there’s a voice inside his head telling him that Callum will eventually, inevitably stop saying it back.

He shouldn’t be testing love in this way, he knows that. Not when it had taken so much for him to be able to say the words in the first place, not when every test may well be pushing things further towards breaking point. But now that love is here, the fear of it scarpering again is constant.

"It's not —"

"You can't love and _lie,_ Ben," Callum wants to break, he really does. "At least I don't. I — I can't."

They're both raising their voices, but it's equally dull, painful white noise for Ben and that's even more damaging. He can't hear how pained Callum is, only spots, milliseconds. Ben has to rely on facial expression, touch, and it's so hard to do any of that when the broken expression Callum paints himself with is the same one he had when Ben, in one of many lies, had said he didn't love him.

"Why? Why do this?" Callum shrugs, weight gone from his posture.

“To protect you.” Callum honest to God _laughs_. They can’t be back here again.

“I told you before, _I don’t need protecting_. And if you really want to do this all over again, then we can. I said you needed to start being honest.” Ben nods. “If there’s something you think you need to protect me from, then there’s something you need to tell me.”

“Callum, please.”

“I already know, Ben.” And if Ben was brave enough even to be honest with himself, he’d be able to admit he’d been expecting that. “I saw the map you tried to hide, I saw the tears on your face last night, and I saw the blood on your pillow and the look in your eyes this morning.” He pauses, making sure that Ben has taken his words in. “So, I’ll ask you one more time. What happened at the warehouse?”

“It was for money.” Well, it’s always for money, isn’t it?

“This is what you asked me about on the day of your operation, weren’t it?” Ben nods. “When you told me it was nothing to do with Phil.” He laughs. Ben ducks his his head, but no sooner do his eyes meet the floor than Callum’s fingertips are underneath his chin, tilting his head until he meets his eyes again. “What’s the money for?”

Ben opens his mouth, ready to tell him the truth. But to do so would be to betray Phil, and the thought of telling Callum that the recipients of the cash stashed somewhere in Number 55 are the closest thing, bar his brother, that Callum’s got to family on this Square frightens him.

“You know enough, now, Callum.” And that’s true, insofar as Callum knows all he _wants_ to know. But for once, he _needs_ the full truth. The taller man just looks at him, tries not to let his glance become a glare.

Ben pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth. 

The smiles and the promises of pride are conditional where Phil’s concerned. _If_ you keep this secret; _if_ you follow this instruction. 

But not with Callum. Callum’s love is immediate, ever present. Always.

Phil doesn’t deserve this. Ben will not ruin Callum. Not again. Not for Phil.

“The money’s for The Vic.” The admission doesn’t spark the rage that Ben had been expecting. Callum’s main deduction is the sheer amount of cash that the purpose implies.

“Jack said there were two people. Was it just you and Phil?” Ben should react to the revelation that Jack knows about the job. But if the newspapers are on top of this, so is everyone else. 

Ben realises how much time he's taking to figure this out, that he has very little idea what happened even though he was actually _there._

Phil's probably at peace right now, swimming in money as he had been in the immediate aftermath, happy about the plan going as smoothly as it could. 

But it didn't, did it? Not for Ben, and once again Ben earned nothing but pain, leaving with more than he went in with.

Callum waits, always patient with Ben, but he's at the end of his thread now, pulled taut and ready to snap. But time drags on, ever more, because Ben's defences are trying hard to rail against the fear that's crawling up his spine.

The echo of the noise, the point blank pain in his ear, the shrill of metal popping down a barrel — Ben remembers he wasn't alone. In fact, he's haunted by it.

Danny screaming at him, the words few that made it through before silence had settled, hand to his shirt and Ben on his knees. Phil didn't even do anything, just stood there and told _Ben_ to _beg_ , to put on a show. 

He wouldn't step forward, intervene properly. And logically, rationally, that would’ve blown the act. Ben understands that. One false move would have yielded nothing but another pull on the trigger, this time fatal, he’s sure. But the thought that Phil couldn’t even join in with a show that should have required very little acting threatens to shatter Ben entirely.

But that'd ruin his image, wouldn't it? Big, bad Phil Mitchell, on his knees to beg for the life of his son.

"Danny."

It's that one name, one awful reminder. That’s all it takes to shift the atmosphere between them. Callum is tense, Ben can see it in his jaw.

"Hardcastle?" 

Ben nods, feels the wobble in his bottom lip, but he brushes his wrist against it, sucks in a breath that he hopes isn't too noticeable. His chest hurts from trying to stop it, and his head falls as a result, the concrete reminder of last night too early, too soon to remember and bare.

Callum bites his lip, turns away to settle both his feet flat to the floor. One of his legs bounces, agitation, and Ben watches the way his eyes speak in silence. He's trying to put this together as he takes in the blatant, rare fear in Ben's eyes in having remembered it. In the moment between Callum’s question and the utterance of Danny's name, the colour had drained from Ben’s face as though somebody has washed ink from a brush.

The contents of the article he’d shown Ben comes flooding back again, and with it the memory of having bumped into Ben on the threshold of an alleyway, the man’s behaviour evasive even then. The article had told of gunshots.

“Who had the gun?” Callum asks the question before he has time to process the thought, head still turned away. Ben sees the movement of his lips, but not well enough to catch the words themselves.

“What?” He asks, frowning ever so slightly as he shakes his head. Callum turns to face him.

“Who had the gun?” He repeats.

“More than one.” Ben takes a shuddering breath. “I had one, Danny had one, but one of Danny’s lot took mine when he realised I was there.”

Callum realises two things simultaneously: Ben didn’t fire a bullet at all, and Danny fired the bullet that burst Ben’s eardrum.

Callum flicks between Ben's face and his ear, an unsettling feeling in his stomach. For his ear to bleed like that, to flinch away from Callum's touch when he's usually clinging on — it's got to be bad.

He almost doesn't want to ask at all. If Ben tells him the truth, he can very easy visualise it, and with that, he'd be there in the moment too.

Maybe Ben really _is_ protecting him that way, preventing him from going through the same.

“That’s what happened to your ear?” He pauses before reaching over to rest his fingers against Ben’s neck, thumb at the hinge of his jaw as carefully as he can. Ben anticipates it, a small tilt away, and Callum hates that he can see Ben _wanting_ the contact as much as he does even though it might hurt him.

Ben nods, lips pressed together. He doesn't want to say it, because there's a sob building in his throat that's starting to burn.

“How close was he?”

His eyes close for a moment, teeth digging into his bottom lip, a thud in his head. The memory is still very much alive, still agonisingly painful, a reminder that he'll only hurt more, become weaker if he keeps talking.

But the hinges on Ben's heart are failing even as he tries so desperately to keep everything in. It's as clear as day, what the destruction on Ben's face tells Callum, how he can't look away, as if Ben is shifting back in on himself, the little boy with glasses and no one else to defend him.

He's begging Callum, almost, to take that pain away, and instead he mumbles a single world.

“Here.” He says, gesturing ever so slightly in the direction of Callum’s hand. Ben's voice breaks, and so does he, fragments of the pain coming back like a physical memory.

The taller man frowns, shakes his head.

“What?”

Ben sniffs, gently moves his hand up, and one glance reveals the shake in his fingers, one touch reveals how cold he is as he makes contact.

He lifts Callum’s hand away from his neck, moves it, not far, hovering it near the ear that can't pick up the subtle shift of skin on skin, the delicate parts of life. Callum's dread quickens. He wants to pull away and stop Ben from living it out once more, but Ben smiles weakly.

It's a false telling of _I'm alright_ , the same too-quick smile from this morning, because Ben folds his hand around his, holds it tight, and then presses his thumb to the back of his hand. He does it quick, sharp — like a trigger.

“Here.”

Callum's face falls, eyes widening frantically as he pulls his hand out of Ben’s grasp, overcome so strongly by a tempest of emotion that he physically recoils from a fictional gunshot. 

It’s anger that prevails in the end, the accompanying adrenaline forcing Callum up and out of his seat as he exhales deeply, running his wrist across his mouth as a burning sensation prickles behind his eyes.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?” Ben asks, frantic. Callum turns to look at him, and the expression that contorts his features as he speaks tells Ben that the words he can’t decipher must be dripping with vitriol. The only word he catches is the only one that matters.

 _Danny_.

“Callum, _no_.” Ben tells him, shaking his head. Callum doesn’t know how he expects to find Danny, but there’s a version of him sat across the square that seems as good a place as any to start. He makes towards the staircase, Ben following close behind. “You _can’t!_ Danny knows what you do for a living, Callum, you’ll be ruining yourself too. He’s probably already after us.” The image of Phil telling him to _beg_ threatens to break through. “Please!”

The broken sound stops Callum in his tracks.

Ben hovers behind him, places his hand against his back, balling his fist into the material. 

Callum can't walk, Ben's hold on the back of his shirt so faint but anchoring. He barely made it to the hallway, a shadow over them now as Callum listens to the muffled noises behind him.

Ben's doing the same as before, breaking at the thought of Callum leaving, grasping against his shirt as his forehead thumps to rest between his shoulder blades. Callum feels it, the heavy exhale that shakes, followed by a sniff, a further grip that loosens after a moment.

"Don't," he says, sobbed into the fabric that's slowly absorbing whatever tears he allows to break loose. "It's not worth it."

Callum licks his lips, tastes salt, and only then notices the ghost of Ben's own pain is reflecting on him. He knows the sound of it, feels the force of it.

He can't imagine what it did to Ben, how much it felt like it was shredding him from the inside.

Ben pulls on his shirt, gets him to turn, and he's never seen Callum so tense, so strict in his movements and the way he holds his jaw, teachings of the military still embedded in his stature. That's the face of a man bent on finding fuel for the fire inside.

He brings his hands up, cups each side of Callum's jaw.

"I'm here, I'm alright," Ben regrets the words as soon as he says them, Callum moving his head away from his grip.

"He hurt you," argues Callum, looking at Ben's ear once more.

There's so much he wants to do. He wants to help, heal it, but he can't. The only thing he can do is hold his hand through the storm.

He's seen the effects of it, knows how scary Ben can find things now as he sleeps on the other side of the bed, Callum’s presence a shield between him and the door.

"It's _over,"_ begs Ben, hands fisted into his shirt a final time before they loosen altogether, fingers splayed against Callum’s chest as he realises the weight of his own words. He didn't mean it that way, but it's so hard to say the truth.

"Is it?" Callum shrugs, voice wavering.

"Yeah — it's over. The job. For now, at least." If this is it, if it’s honest from here on out, then he can’t pretend that Danny won’t come back.

"The lying, Ben. Is the lying over?" And Ben nods, eyes more honest than Callum has ever known them. “Promise me.”

“I promise.” Ben speaks before Callum even finishes his sentence.

For a moment the same old fears present themselves, the fear that the promise might be false. 

Ben sees that fear flicker across Callum’s features, leans away ever so slightly as he runs his finger down his chest and then across it, making the promise again and making a thousand more with it.

Callum nods.

“Then I’ll be here. Anywhere that you are.” Callum smiles faintly, resting his forehead against Ben’s before pressing a ghost of a kiss against his lips. 

Relief washes over Ben as the storm dissipates. Callum doesn't say it, but his eyes do: _thank you for telling me._

A thumb brushes across Ben's cheek, and Callum shuffles on his feet before planting his hand on the back of Ben's head, softly placing the painful ear against Callum's chest.

He's warm, so _warm._ And the pain dwindles slightly, but Ben imagines that with Callum, it'll fade. 

This is it, the difference between Ben and Phil, here in this moment. The myth will break, the maker will not. And as the myth breaks and the truth spills out, every myth that Ben has ever spun breaks with him. 

There's no point lying about something so infinite, proven many times over.

Callum loves him, always.


End file.
